


jagged vacance, filled with ice

by r1ker



Category: In and Out (1997)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the time comes when they have to part and howard finds it harder than anything he could imagine. but, as he always likes to think, hope springs eternal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jagged vacance, filled with ice

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to holocene by bon iver on repeat while i was writing this so
> 
> cry with me
> 
> #inandoutsquad

Eventually, Peter has to go back.

 

They spend the week after the wedding together, Howard mending bridges with the school to get him back to teaching as soon as possible, Peter lounging around in his hotel room handling IE news over the phone. Nights are always spent in the company of one another, sometimes in Howard’s now empty home, a few times in Peter’s hotel room. There’s not a lot of sex after the first time, maybe a couple of instances where they’re occupied in a bathroom or bed with no room between them to even have it be considered as casual, but nonetheless intimate in their own way.

 

The last morning they have together, in the comfort of Howard’s house, Howard wakes up first. He’s already been up for the last few hours, static brain not able to turn off long enough to have restful sleep. He turns over to look at Peter, as he lies next to him sound asleep. Howard finds his hand in the tangle of comforter and sheets and holds it close. It’s cold from the slowly oscillating ceiling fan up ahead but Howard warms it between his, presses kisses into the palm and the first four fingers. Peter doesn’t stir, breathes lightly in his sleep and continues on dreaming.

 

Howard tries to will the lump in his throat to go away but it lingers, threatens to develop into tears. He slides back down onto his side of the bed but keeps on looking at Peter, undoubtedly the best thing to happen to him in a long time. This kind of intimacy was never had with Emily, and for two reasons; Howard saw beds as places to sleep, never somewhere to touch and hold close, and he was always up before her, on his way to work. Now beds are their last chance to remain close and drink each other in deep. This time, however, Howard is going to have to go a while without hydration.

 

Peter stirs after a while and does what he’s done for the last few mornings, sidling up to Howard and wrapping both arms around Howard’s chest. Howard holds him a little closer today, throat still aching with the overwhelming urge to weep with how good this feels, how right this is. He likes everything about when Peter holds him, how he’s seemingly warmer than the blankets, his breathing against Howard’s chest, the way his voice is sleepy just like the rest of him. Howard does not dare to glance at the alarm clock on the side table, doesn’t want it to tell him the truth. Instead he looks straight down at Peter, chin on Peter’s head, and hangs on for dear life.

 

Peter smiles, a sleepy upturn of lips that has Howard’s heart melting. “You’ve been awake for a while, haven’t you?” _That’s Peter for you_ , Howard thinks. _He knows more about me than I do and it’s only been a few weeks_.

 

Howard thickly swallows and kisses Peter’s head for good measure, waits a few beats before speaking again. When he opens his mouth his jaw is tense. He closes it and swallows again, hopes the fluid motion will loosen his muscles. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Peter, always the better, says to him, looking up to cup Howard’s cheek in one warmed hand. Howard leans into his touch automatically. “We’ll go get breakfast and walk around for a while. If the waffles won’t clear your mind the walk sure will.” Howard laughs, a choked sound given the weight resting on his heart, and holds him close as he scoots down to make their foreheads touch.

 

He can’t help but stay right by Peter’s side as they separate to make the bed up together for the last time. Reassembling sheets and pillows stops being a team effort as Peter does all the work while Howard stands there numb. Peter tries to treat him, kissing his forehead the minute a sheet is tucked in or a pillow is fluffed.

 

As always they get dressed together, shave at the sinks in comfortable silence. Peter keeps one of Howard’s hands in his at all times, even when he moves to wipe shaving cream from his face, he steals one of Howard’s knuckles to get the job done. Howard lets Peter lay him out on the made-up bed once they shed their night clothes in favor for the day’s outfit, accepting kisses everywhere from his mouth to his chest, letting Peter ravish him for the last time for a while. With one final kiss, lingering just long enough to become a rest of their two mouths, they part for breakfast downstairs.

 

There, Peter becomes a makeshift chef, attentive enough to follow the directions on the box of pancake mix to begin slinging together waffles. Howard sits at the bar and watches him with his face in his hands. He’s so in love it hurts, heart shredding apart each time Peter turns around from the stove with the pan in one gloved hand, smiling crookedly at the mess of a waffle that sizzles away in the pan. Peter always remarks that the bad ones, the ones with singed edges and gooey centers, will be left to him; he’ll eat whatever Howard doesn’t because he’s starving, and turns back to improve his waffle-making skill.

 

Peter assembles Howard’s waffles in front of him; plain waffles before an impressive spread of fruit and toppings packed with sugar, and goes from bowl to bowl, asking what he’d like on them. Howard settles for strawberries and bananas, and groans when Peter goes a little too nuts with the syrup.

 

They eat sitting side by side on stools at the bar, Peter stealing a few forkfuls of Howard’s waffles and Howard stealing his, grimacing at the sticky-sweetness of syrup on his tongue. Peter laughs at his face, all twisted up. Howard looks at him, face blurred out by the rays of brilliant sunlight pouring in from the windows. He thinks of how he’s been treated by Peter, better than anyone he can immediately think of in his life, and realizes something – Peter’s his angel, if he can even say that.

 

After breakfast they walk outside to a bumble of neighbors and cars and dogs and bikes, people in Greenleaf pouring out onto the streets to soak up the sun after days spent inside hiding from three inches of torrential rain. A few of them say hello to Howard, wave to him with either a leash or a water hose in one hand, and he always greets them back. Not one of them has come to him with an offensive statement or comment in light of his coming out and he’s beyond grateful. Some of the ladies from Howard’s mom’s rotary club baked, knitted, did everything they could to welcome Peter to Greenleaf as if he’s staying here forever. Howard just smiled sadly when he accepted their tokens, knowing that he sympathized with them. He wanted Peter to stay forever too.

 

Peter holds his hand for the whole walk, up one street and down the other only to loop back again. He brings it to his mouth to kiss when something wistful passes by him. At one point a truck slows down by them and Howard turns his head, sees his dad smiling in the passenger seat. Mom’s close by next to him, holding his hand on the gearshift, grinning in the same way. When they get ready to pass them, Howard’s dad takes one hand off of the wheel to point two fingers at his eyes, then one at Peter. _I’m watching you._ Peter snorts and waves with a smile, and the parents drive away.

 

They walk back home talking about nothing in particular. Howard talks about his students – God, he’s back with them for the next year and it feels so good, so right – and what will happen in the coming school year. While the weather outside spells the spring, May, and with it, graduations galore, Howard is enjoying looking forward to the future. He was denied these just days ago.

 

“I want to do something different next school year,” he begins, squeezing Peter’s hand in his. “Of course, I’ve got to do the readings I’m bound to do by the Indiana State curriculum but I want to add something else.”

 

“Like what?” Peter sighs, stopping their languid walking pace to rest his head on Howard’s shoulder. The two of them are standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight lying on each other.

 

“Personal freedom,” Howard responds and takes Peter’s jaw in one hand, looking at him to help him find what he wants to say next. “I feel I have a lot to say about it. We might read _1984_ or something like that. I’m open to suggestions.”

 

“Are the kids too old to be reading _The Outsiders_ or am I completely behind in the times,” Peter remarks. A wistful smile returns to his face and he squints up to look at the sky. “I really liked that book. I also think I might’ve read it in seventh grade English class. Hey, I forget you teach juniors.”

 

“That’s a book for all ages,” Howard says complacently. That’s actually one of his favorites. Granted, it is targeted a little bit more towards sixth to eighth graders, but he might just let the kids read it again as an option in a literary circle.

 

“You’re a book for all ages.”

 

“Your attempt at a term of an endearment is not ignored but rather recognized, and I congratulate you on your effort,” he says, accepting another kiss from Peter in the middle of a strong gust of wind. Peter bites his lip and Howard yelps – it really wasn’t that hard but it was enough to recapture his attention.

 

Afternoon arrives and they stave off lunch in favor for loading up Howard’s car with Peter’s bags. Greenleaf’s only about twenty minutes away from the airport in Indianapolis so they decide to get a head start for the 3:30 flight. Howard shuts the trunk with a sigh, feels Peter come behind him to rest his hands on Howard’s shoulders. Peter leans against him, enveloping Howard in everything he is, and breathes in deep his scent.

 

“I’ll try to be back in a couple of weeks, I promise,” Peter says into the nape of Howard’s neck. Howard’s face twists with tears and he tries with everything in him to will them from falling but it fails. Peter hears him and turns him around by the shoulders, holds him close. Peter thumbs away the tears sliding down Howard’s cheek, replaces them with lips at Howard’s temple.

 

The car ride to the airport is agonizing. Howard’s made it so many times in his life; it’s almost reflexive the way he merges onto the highway heading north. He’s aching because the next time he comes back home, it will be alone. Peter tries to keep him in good spirits in the passenger seat, singing along with the radio and playing his own version of license plate games. Howard smiles and tries to play along but he hurts too badly to fully join in.

 

Howard walks him in to his gate, holding his hand the whole way. No one looks at them, too busy with their own life, trying to find bags and loved ones and rides. Peter sits the two of them down with the bags on an empty row of chairs and before Howard Peter kneels, levels himself to Howard where Howard is bent over his knees with his hands rubbing at his eyes.

 

“I will be back in a month or so, okay?” Peter tries to comfort. Howard looks at him desperately, eyes red. Peter lets out one of those anguished breaths he’s released so many times today and takes Howard’s hands in his. Kisses are pressed into each palm and on every fingertip, brief keepsakes he can leave.

 

They stay together just like that, touching in each way they can figure out, resting with foreheads touching. Howard never lets go of Peter’s hands during all of this. Very little he cries, a couple of solitary tears finding their way down from his eyes. Peter breathes in the same space he does, taking in his air, and does nothing to move them apart. Soon, the call comes for passengers boarding the flight to Los Angeles and Howard visibly tenses, clutches onto Peter for dear life.

 

“That’s my flight, bub,” Peter confesses with regret tinting his voice. Howard looks at him, nearly pleading, and kisses Peter one last time. Peter seems to pour everything else he’s left unsaid into this particular kiss, touching Howard’s cheeks with both hands. They part to hug again, bodies clinging in an attempt to keep it short to spare the heartache. Peter walks away for his flight, a last peck on the cheek to Howard, and looks back just as he’s made it to the ticket booth. Howard waves, a gesture that was the only one to pop into his head. _Until later_ , he tries to reckon with his muddled brain.

 

Driving back home, he’s never felt so lonely in his life. Even though cars pass him on the left and the right, packed with families and husbands and wives, he feels that he is the only one on earth. He keeps the radio off and uses the countless thoughts about Peter buzzing around in his mind as ambience.

 

When he gets home he wishes for his phone to ring, Peter saying that they’ve changed their minds and decided to keep him permanently in Greenleaf. That never comes. He lives his life as usual, persisting at home throughout the summer, putting on a brave face for Fourth of July parties and functions with the rest of the school faculty. They all ask him about Peter, how he’s doing living it up in California, and Howard fills them on what he can. He’s doing his usual correspondence, covering the summer bashes Los Angeles seems to always be hosting.

 

What he doesn’t tell them about are the five-hour phone calls they have together each night. He doesn’t tell them about falling asleep with Peter on the other end of the phone, listening to each other breathe against the phone and eventually falling asleep to the sound of Peter’s voice. Peter calls him at least three times a day, once when Howard gets up, another when Howard brings his class to lunch and slips away long enough to use the phone in the front office, and again at night, the final thing wishing Howard a good sleep.

 

A few weeks later, by Howard’s count using the calendar on the refrigerator, almost September, he gets a call.

 

He walks casually to the phone, having been used to it ringing off the hook since back-to-school plans have been in full swing, and picks it up to answer. “Hello?”

 

“Hi, bub, it’s me,” he hears Peter’s sweet voice say and a smile comes to Howard’s face instantaneously. He laughs, a sound that gets progressively more choked up. “Got some good news for you.”

 

“Yeah?” Howard asks, clearing his throat to rid it of the tears he knew were going to come.

 

“I’m coming back to Greenleaf. They’ll have me correspond for Indianapolis indefinitely,” Peter reveals and Howard sighs, lets the tears flood his eyes again. For the next few minutes they talk, only sparingly, the sounds of their breathing and sighing the only things coming through the airwaves.

 

Driving to the airport, Howard is sure he’s broken about a dozen traffic laws. He speeds just a little too much, passes too many cars to be considered appropriate, and he’s pretty sure he clips a security gate pulling into the airport parking lot. He manages to put his car in park in favor of not jumping out of a moving vehicle. Little does he know that a little part of Greenleaf has traveled with him to the airport.

 

In the waiting area of the airport stands all of Howard’s rising AP English juniors, holding welcoming signs and smiling broadly at their teacher when they see him enter the airport. Howard’s parents are the captains of this welcome wagon, standing at the front of the crowd.

 

Howard smiles at them and lets them both put one arm around him, peering anxiously up at the board to see when the flight from Los Angeles is coming in. Their wishes are granted about fifteen minutes into waiting, when the plane holding passengers from LAX pulls in on the runway outside. Howard’s stomach is twisting with nervousness, excitement, and joy all at once. It creates a lump near his diaphragm that can only be cured by Peter’s presence.

 

The passengers start filing off the plane in crowds and Howard waits for his to come through the gate. Just when he’s started to think Peter has played some cruel joke, Peter comes rolling in with his cargo, dropping it to run to Howard. Howard matches him stride for stride and Peter catches him, lets Howard hold onto him with both legs around Peter’s hips. Peter kisses the shaking breath from his lungs, runs both hands through Howard’s hair.

 

Students behind them cheer and Howard’s mother cries, for her son has finally been reunited with, better for a lack of words, his other half. She had felt like something had been missing from him over the summer, the spark that Peter seemed to light.

 

Howard and Peter share words that no one else can seem to make out, foreheads pressed together and both of them speaking into the shared spaces between their lips. Briefly Howard laughs, can hear Peter saying something about how boring Hollywood was without Howard there to make fun of things with him. Howard cries only a little when he kisses Peter properly for the first time in weeks, faces tilted to accommodate one another’s features.

 

Howard reaches up to touch Peter’s hair, finding it much shorter than it was earlier in the summer. “You got a haircut,” Howard chokes out, running his fingers through the fine buzz of it.

 

“I had no choice, they said I didn’t look good on camera,” Peter laughs, touching Howard’s wrists feather-light. Howard kisses him again, softly this time, and they pull apart with mutual smiles.

 

The two of them turn around to face the cries and sounds of joy and Peter laughs at their enthusiasm and the way Howard can’t seem to let him go. He won’t anymore. This time around, Peter’s here to stay. And Howard won’t ever let them leave one another again.


End file.
